


The Only Living Boy in New York

by barbaricyawp



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Amnesia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, PTSD, Recovery, steve centric fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-14
Updated: 2014-08-14
Packaged: 2018-02-13 03:18:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2135085
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/barbaricyawp/pseuds/barbaricyawp
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Without Bucky, Steve felt like the only person left alive. With Bucky there's still a lot of work to do. And Steve? Steve has nothing to do today but smile.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Only Living Boy in New York

—

_Half of the time we're gone but we don't know where and we don't know where._

—

Steve gets his best friend back on a Sunday. After nearly two years of searching, of near sightings and near contact, it all narrows down into a late Sunday afternoon in May. 

The sun is setting and his kitchen is slightly too dark to see when Steve comes home. But he doesn’t have to turn on the light to see the shadowy figure standing by his window.

For a moment, every muscle in Steve’s body tenses. He moves for the shield strapped to his back. But then the figure looks up and the sun is glinting off his left shoulder. Steve's entire body condenses into gratitude.

Steve breaks into tears and barely restrains himself from lunging forward. Because he doesn’t know if this is Bucky or the Winter Soldier. If either one is alright with being touched, held, cradled. But Bucky—whoever he is—is alive and breathing and standing in Steve’s kitchen.

“Bucky?” Steve tries tentatively and takes a step forward.

Bucky just tilts his head. 

“It’s me. It’s—“ Steve chokes a little. His throat feels swollen and raw. “It’s Steve. Your friend. Do you remember me?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything. He just extends his left arm, the metal one, and pushes the sleeve up. It’s badly damaged and Steve can tell he can’t move much other than his shoulder socket. Steve takes his hand gingerly. When he looks up, Bucky looks confused.

“I need to requisition maintenance.”

And Steve…Steve’s heart just falls to pieces.

—

The year that Steve spent without Bucky was the loneliest time he’s ever spent. In his time under water, New York had transformed. Grown like a child into boisterous and overstimulated adulthood. The cars were louder, the streets more populated, the buildings taller. Nothing was the same. His city had grown up. And Steve missed its formative years.

It didn’t take him long to learn the microwave or how to wield a cell phone. But each time he pressed the buttons or took a call, he felt inexplicably sad. He felt robbed of his world and given a technically better replacement. 

But it isn’t his and he’s homesick for something that he’ll never return to.

He went for long walks, circling Brooklyn and parts of the city he could recognize. Pausing in alleyways. Purposefully avoiding the apartment that Bucky and Steve shared because even Steve isn't that much of a masochist. Even Steve-with his supersoldier body and supersoldier cardiac system-can't handle that sort of heartbreak.

Some nights, he would think of Bucky. Not just Bucky falling into the snow or never seeing his friend again. Not just watching Bucky's body getting smaller and smaller and swallowed up into the white. Not just seeing Bucky's eyes cold and hollow-chasms where his personality should have been. No, Bucky as he was when he was really Bucky. Steve would imagine Bucky’s reaction to all the newness. To the cars and the music and the length of women’s skirts. To falafel and interracial couples and gay pride parades. To everything.

He knew, without a doubt, that Bucky would have loved most of the changes. He’d like modern buildings and pop music and the spectacle of it all. Bucky always loved bigness. Steve hurt thinking that he hates the new world when Bucky would love it.

Steve hurt thinking that the one thing that would make him feel less alone, the one person that always made him belong, the only person that made Steve feel like he mattered—is gone. Gone because Steve dropped him.

Maybe Steve can handle a lot of heartbreak.

—

Stark looks at Bucky's arm that night. Says it’s in bad shape and he might need to just make him a new one because who knows what’s in this one. A detonator? A tracking device? Could Hydra be on their way to Bucky now?

Steve just sits quietly in his lab, watching Bucky. He worries, compulsively and ridiculously, that if he takes his eyes off Bucky for one moment he'll disappear. All that searching all over again.

Bucky has been quiet since his arrival. Unmoving until Steve told him they were going to Tony’s. That they needed to be sure his arm was safe.

Now he doesn’t do anything unless Tony or Steve tells him to. If Tony thinks his behavior is odd, he doesn’t mention it. But after getting a look at Bucky’s arm, Tony turns to Steve.

“Looks like it’s all clear, Captain. But, one) I think I’ll build him a new one just in case. And two) I think we should get the big guy in here. Do a CAT scan and some other diagnostics. Run all the fun tests. What do you say?”

Steve looks to Bucky. Bucky isn’t even looking at them. Steve knows he can hear them. He’s just staring at the wall. 

Back in the day, Bucky Barnes couldn’t sit still for more than five minutes before getting himself into trouble.

It’s a Sunday night and Steve isn’t sure he has his friend back.

“Whatever you think is best.”

“Atta boy,” Tony crows and claps Steve on the shoulder. “It’ll be fun. We’ll make a party of it. Marathon Medicine Madness. JARVIS, get Brucie in here, would you?”

—

Doctor Banner comes within ten minutes. He wheels in a few heavy machines and takes Bucky with him.

Even after several hours with Bucky's head, he doesn’t have many concrete answers.

“His brain is healthier than it should be, given his frequent brain wipes and conditioning.” Doctor Banner tells Steve all this while cleaning his glasses on his shirt. Steve watches his glasses rather than his face. “Which tells me that he’s like you. That is, he has abnormal healing abilities. His CAT scan and the files that Natasha found tell me he has enormous potential to recover. Maybe not a full recovery…but it will be something.”

It’s relieving, but not helpful. Bucky is still acting like the Winter Soldier and Steve would give anything to help him back home. 

“When I asked him to remember me, do you know what he did?” Steve sounds angry, even to his own ears. He tries to soften his tone, but it comes out wavering. “He told me his arm needed repairs. What…what am I supposed to take from that, Doc?”

Doctor Banner purses his lips. “His file says that they struggled to erase you from his memory. That tells me he’s remembering you now. And remembering you as a source of healing and comfort.”

Steve inhales sharply.

“Look, Cap, I don’t have any good medicine for this. Hydra was playing with technology they themselves couldn’t control. So my advice? Try to remind him who he is. Who you are. Don’t overstimulate him. Give him a safe, quiet environment. And, Cap?”

“Yeah, Doc?”

“Give it time.”

For a man out of time, Steve has a lot of it.

—

Bucky is quiet on the way back to Steve’s apartment. He’s quiet in the apartment, he just stares ahead. Sometimes at Steve, as if waiting for an order.

Unsure what else to do, Steve decides it’s probably time to get Bucky into fresh clothes. He’s been in the clothes he arrived in this whole time. It’s late, nearly midnight, but Steve can’t handle the thought of sending his friend to bed covered in grime and in full gear.

“Come on, buddy. Let’s get you cleaned up.” 

Bucky doesn’t move until Steve does, following him into Steve’s en suite bathroom. Once in there, he goes still again.

“I’ll get you a towel and some clothes. Shampoo and soap is in the shower. Hot water is to the left.”

Steve leaves Bucky there and waits outside the door. He’s not surprised when there’s no sign of movement, no sound of water rushing through pipes. 

He’s not surprised when Bucky doesn’t know what to do. He’s just sad.

So he goes back in. Bucky is just standing there, staring at the shower, brow furrowed. He looks almost lost. Bucky _back then_ would hate this. Would hate being so helpless.

“How about I give you a hand there?” Steve tries to say it as normal as possible. As if he routinely helps his friend bathe. But when Steve reaches to help Bucky out of his jacket, Bucky has Steve pressed up against the wall. Hands on his throat. Those cold eyes again. Not Bucky. _Not Bucky._

“It’s okay,” Steve rasps and puts his hands where Bucky can see them. “Sorry, Buck. It’s okay. It’s…can you let me go? I won’t touch you.”

Bucky looks confused. His eyes are wide and childish. All his emotions on display, amplified. In a way he never would have let Steve see before.

And it makes Steve want to cry. To throw things. To _kill_ things. But Bucky drop his hands and nods. He takes a step back.

“We just need to get you out of your clothes so you can shower. Can you do that for me?”

Bucky doesn’t nod, but he strips out of his clothes. Quick and without shame. Protocol. Steve doesn’t want to think about that too hard.

At this point, Steve decides it might be better to draw a bath instead. And he has a nice claw foot tub (it doesn’t exactly make him feel more at home, but his mother always wanted one and it reminds him of being young). 

Steve has seen Bucky naked exactly twice in their adult lives. Once when he accidentally walked in on him with Molly Flanders and again they were in the army and he walked in on Bucky changing.

Steve tries not to let his eyes linger on him for too long, but he can tell that Bucky has changed. The Bucky then was never out of shape. He just wasn’t scraped into the weapon that Bucky is clearly designed to be now.

A low thrum of desire beats through Steve and crashes into a lingering sensation of guilt. He shoves it away where he won’t have to think about it.

Bucky just stands there naked while the tub fills. When it’s nearly full, Steve sits at the edge of it. 

“Alright, you can get in now, Buck.” 

Bucky hesitates a moment before stepping in. He makes a soft, shocked sound. As if surprised that the water doesn’t hurt. Surprised the water is warm and comfortable for him.

Steve uses his toothbrush cup to scoop bath water over Bucky’s head. Dipping the cup into the water and bringing it to the crown of his head. In and out. Down and up.

Bucky’s eyes are starting to slip closed and he’s sliding lower into the bath. Muscles coming loose and relaxed under the warm water. Steve wonders when was the last time he was washed with warm water.

Bucky has washed Steve before. There was one fall when a draft in the apartment kept the damn place from ever getting properly warm and Steve was sick and freezing. 

So Bucky asked to borrow their neighbor, Mr. Goldberg’s bathtub. Bucky boiled three large pots of water and filled the basin, demanding that Steve, “Get over your damn modesty and get warm.”

Steve was weak with the whooping cough and still remembers how Bucky helped him undress lowered him into the water. How warm and good it felt. How nice it felt to have Bucky’s fingers wash his hair and clean the sweat from his brow.

Now, there’s scars knotted over Bucky’s left shoulder and chest. And then more trailing down his abdomen and hip. There’s a clear gunshot wound in his right inner thigh, just above his knee. A gunshot wound that close to the femoral artery should have killed him. 

Steve doesn’t want to think about it.

When he starts to work shampoo into Bucky’s scalp, Bucky lets out a soft, low groan. At first, Steve freezes, worried he’s hurt him.

But then Bucky sinks lower into the water and his chest heaves with a sigh. Steve smiles and rubs his thumbs over the nape of his neck over and over again.

His skin is real under Steve's fingers. His pulse and his breath and his skin. He's real. Bucky, or at least a part of Bucky, is home.

—

The first week, Bucky doesn’t talk. At least, not when prompted with direct questions. Steve just tells him endless stories about the trouble they got into and the way that New York used to be.

“There was this one time, Buck, that you wanted to get me some nice pencils to draw with. And they were too expensive. Do you remember the art store? It was right next to the sandwich place that gave us free pickles when we were kids.”

Bucky isn’t smiling or showing any sign that he remembers, but he’s leaning in toward Steve as he talks. He isn’t drinking the hot cocoa Steve put in front of him, but his hands are circled around the mug the same way that Steve’s are circled around his own.

“Anyway, there was this girl who worked there, Margaret…No! Sarah. Sarah Rothschild. Do you remember? She had this long, pretty blonde hair that you said made her look like a movie star. You told her that, too. She liked you a lot. Anyway, so you’d flirt with her all day until she’d give you just one pencil. You did that for _three months_ before you essentially got me the whole pack. I was so mad at you for playing that poor girl. You remember?”

“No, I don’t remember.” Bucky says, but Steve swears that he’s smiling. Just a little.

—

It isn’t until the second week that Bucky starts speaking unprompted. Making observations. Clumsy and almost childlike, but Steve couldn’t be happier.

“You and Doctor Banner are friendly,” Bucky says one afternoon. They had just visited Doctor Banner for a check up (more neurons firing, even healthier brain and responses, but no major changes).

Steve smiles and nods. He tries not to overwhelm him by acting to excited. But his eyes are watering and his smile is so big that his whole face feels ready to explode. “We’re friends, Buck.”

“Oh,” Bucky says and looks down at his hand. He flexes his fingers.

“But you’re my best friend, Buck.”

Steve knows Bucky smiles at that.

—

It’s another two weeks before Bucky asks for something. Sam had just left from his visit. They’d sat around the breakfast table. Sam and Steve talking strategy with Bucky’s occasional inserts that were at once topical and completely random. Like their discussion of semi-automatics being derailed by proper knife wielding techniques.

“Sam’s alias is ‘The Falcon.’” Bucky states. He has a way of making all his questions sound like assertions.

Steve nods. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t call him that. It goes to his head.”  

“And you are Captain America.” Bucky is flexing his metal hand again. “And Agent Barton is Hawk Eye. Natasha is Black Widow.”

“More or less,” Steve says slowly. “Buck, where is this…”

“So that makes me Winter Soldier.”

Steve full body cringes. “No, you’re Bucky Barnes. My best friend.”

Bucky flexes his hand again. “I want the star off my shoulder.”

“Oh…” Steve’s eyes flick to the red star on Bucky’s metal bicep. “Sure thing. I’ll call Tony about the new arm tonight.”

—

The loneliest part of being Steve Rogers in 21st century New York was the consistent feelings of guilt. Of not belonging here.

He knew he shouldn't have survived. Not just because he didn't deserve it, but because he wasn't suited for this. He'd always lived with Bucky or at least with his squadron.

But that year, he'd had his own SHIELD issued apartment. He tried to fill his life with missions and with books and with curiosity about this new world. But it still meant taking meals alone. It still meant setting his shield down in a dark apartment. It meant looking at himself in the mirror and wondering if Steve Rogers was really in there anymore.

Or if Steve Rogers had been frozen over and replaced with Captain America.

Because now there was no one alive who knew him as Steve. Steve the skinny guy in the alleyways. Steve hunched over an inhaler before trying to get into the army. Skinny Steve who grew into somebody tall and magnificent.

But Bucky had always said Steve was a hero before he was Captain America.

—

Not everything is progress. 

Bucky plateaus around week five. He asks questions every now and then, contributes to conversation, but isn’t so good at taking care of himself. Steve still has to tell him when to dress, to eat, to bathe. Weirdly, Bucky can eat and dress himself, but still requires Steve’s assistance with bathing.

Half of Steve suspects that this is because Hydra rarely cleaned him. The other half of Steve wonders if Bucky just likes being washed.

He’s helping Bucky shave one morning when it happens.

Bucky is leaning against the sink while Steve carefully runs the razor along the underside of his jaw. Steve has yet to nick him because Bucky is so proficient at remaining absolutely still, but he doesn’t want to start soon. So he’s essentially got his nose in Bucky’s face when Bucky speaks.

“I have a question, Steve.” He says.

Steve finishes his line and starts along the column of Bucky’s throat. The skin is delicate there and Steve can feel when Bucky swallows. It makes his own pulse quicken. 

“Let’s hear it, Buck.”

“When you say 'Bucky' is that...Am I...Am I Bucky?”

Steve drops the razor.

Did Bucky just forget what his name was? Or did he never realize it? Steve feels the loneliness well up in his chest, thick and syrupy. For a moment, he feels like he’s drowning. He can’t force air into his lungs, can’t get the lump from his throat. He's freezing over. He can’t answer this. He can’t.

But he swallows hard and does his best. “Yeah. You’re Bucky Barnes. And you’re my best friend.”

Bucky nods. “Ah.”

—

Steve wasn’t too fond of the biography The Smithsonian had written for Bucky. Reducing him to Steve’s best friend, to his time in the army, to his death.

Steve wants Bucky to have his very own section. His clothes and his dreams and his scent and the way he combed his hair in the morning.

He wants there to be a passage on how they met. How Steve was little and mouthy and William Haverly was picking on Steve in an alleyway. And when they were younger Bucky wasn’t that much bigger, but with the two of them they fought off William Haverly. And Bucky fought as if defending his own brother and Steve didn’t get a good look at him until afterward. And Bucky was gaptoothed, freckled, with a nosebleed. 

And Steve didn’t know it at the time, but he was probably a little in love with him then and is a little in love with him now.

Steve wants The Smithsonian to show all of that and more because if Bucky isn’t going to remember Bucky, Steve wants everyone else to.

—

Now that Bucky realizes his own name, things move a little faster. He’s responding much quicker to questions, he’s eating on his own, and Steve has even made him laugh a few times.

That first laugh is the best thing Steve has ever heard. And that includes waking up to Marvin Gaye for the first time.

He smiles broad and sweet. And looks a lot like that gap toothed boy with blood running down from his nose, grinning because he just won a fight he shouldn’t have won.

—

Bucky is remembering Steve. And he’s remembering Steve rapidly.

It first happens on a Thursday. Bucky is in the kitchen, reading a newspaper. Steve has trouble reading the newspapers these days. They make him nervous. He watches the weather channel and let’s Sam tell him everything else.

Bucky is tapping his fingers against the counter with a light clink clink clink sound that Steve actually finds comforting. Then he looks up.

“You’re birthday is soon.”

Steve tenses up. It’s June 28th and yes. His birthday is soon. “Did…somebody tell you that, Buck?”

“No,” Bucky says and the tapping stops. “I just remembered it. It’s on the fourth, right?”

—

After that, the memories come quickly. One after another like Bucky's reading them from a book.

Bucky remembers that Steve likes cheese on his eggs. Remembers that he sleeps on his side and has to be completely covered by a blanket to sleep. Remembers that he likes Dracula. Remembers that he used to go to the movies because he liked the newsreels. Remembers how he takes his coffee. Remembers where he leaves his shoes and when he showers and his favorite foods.

Bucky even remembers how Steve was after the serum took hold. And Bucky remembers patches of fighting with Steve in the war. He remembers that Steve doesn’t like the rain and loves to run now that he can without losing his breath. Bucky remembers Steve's mother's name.

Bucky doesn’t remember his own mother’s name. He doesn't remember what he looked like. Bucky used to like a lot of cream and sugar in his coffee (sometimes with cinnamon) but now takes it black. 

Steve is happy. Happier than he’s been since Bucky fell. How could he not be? He has his best friend back. But he can’t helping feeling like his best friend doesn’t have himself back.

—

The smallest things seem to trigger Bucky’s memory. He spouts them off nearly once an hour. But he still can’t manage a bath. Steve’s been trying to coax him into it. 

Walking him into the bathroom, but not turning on the water. Bucky just stares at the tub until Steve fills it.

Filling the tub, but not washing Bucky’s hair. Bucky will just sit in the water.

Washing Bucky’s hair and shoulders and chest (god help Steve). He’s using the soap that smells like citrus and Bucky suddenly smiles broadly. Steve likes seeing him smile like that. Overjoyed at his remembered world.

“You loved oranges. Love oranges.” Bucky takes Steve’s wrist and pulls his hand close to his face, inhaling the scent on his palm. Bucky still makes a lot of gestures like this. Bold and with no consideration for Steve’s personal space. Like a toddler or an invasive cat. 

Steve doesn’t mind so much.

“You do too, buddy.” Steve murmurs. He rubs his palm over Bucky’s left pectoral, careful not to touch the scarring there.

"Huh." Bucky looks down to his naked thighs. They're pale and wavering in the water. Not that Steve is looking too hard. 

Bucky clears his throat. “I used to wash you.”

Steve nods and holds his breath. It’s close to being a memory about himself. “Yeah, when I was skinny Steve.” He takes a cup of water to sluice over Bucky’s shoulder. “Did you mind terribly?”

Bucky’s quiet for a bit and Steve thinks he isn’t going to answer the question. But he does. “No. I don’t think I ever minded taking care of you.”

Steve lets Bucky have his silence. He eases shampoo into his hair. It’s getting long and Bucky has taken to tying it back into a ponytail. Steve is a little vexed by how good he makes it look. Roguish instead of seedy. 

Bucky turns around to look at Steve. “Do you mind washing me?”

“No, Buck. Of course not. Lean back into the water, alright?” Steve lowers his hands into the water to wash away the shampoo suds. 

Bucky goes all the way under. Under the water he looks peaceful and hushed. His hair fans out around his face like a halo. He’s beautiful. Bucky will always be beautiful. But it makes Steve a little sick to see him like that. Under the water.

Reminds him of the picture in his file. Of Bucky frozen behind the glass. Natasha told him not to read it, but Steve did anyway. Read every gruesome detail of how his arm was attached. Read the way they scrubbed out his memories. The way Bucky fought at first and had to go under again and again and again. Read a file on Bucky’s screaming during the procedure.

Steve has to stop himself from remembering before he gives himself a panic attack.

Bucky resurfaces and rubs his eyes with his flesh hand. He spits out some water and murmurs. “I’m sorry that you have to take care of me.”

Steve shakes his head. “Nah, buddy. We’re taking care of each other.”

—

Steve has been suppressing a memory of Bucky. Partially because it was too painful, but mostly because Steve doesn’t know what to do with it. How to handle…

It was after Steve found Bucky in Zola’s facilities. They shared a tent, just the two of them, and Bucky crawled into bed with him. In retrospect, that gesture should have been suspect. But Steve had been worried and having Bucky wrapped in the circle of his arms felt too good to question.

“Can’t sleep, Buck?”

Bucky had nodded. “Yeah. Doesn’t help that you’re three times the size you used to be.”

“Sore you’re not bigger now?”

“Nah. Sore I can’t fucking fit, though.”

Steve can remember the way Bucky smelled. His hair smelled damp and woody, curling up against Steve’s chin. How warm his skin was under his palms. For once, Bucky felt small to Steve. Like he could hold him and protect him. Steve had liked that. Steve had liked that a lot.

Too much, he remembered. He’d had to change the subject. “I don’t know the fastest route to their headquarters.”

“Probably through the mountains.” Bucky had sounded faint. His face was tucked into Steve’s neck, lips brushing as he talked.

Steve had turned his face down. “Falling asleep, buddy?”

“Nah. I’m wide awake.”

“You’re not. C’mon, Buck, I need help with this.”

Steve doesn’t quite remember what happened next. If he said something else, if Bucky said something else. But he does remember Bucky leaning up a little so their lips barely brushed. And Steve remembers leaning down a little more. And then he remembers kissing. 

Hard and deep. Bucky hushing against his skin. “Cots creak,” and “ _God, Steve_.”

Steve hadn’t been able to speak. Only able to press a palm wide over the small of his back, press their foreheads together afterward and beam.

There was a long pause afterward and then Bucky had murmured. “What now?”

“I…I don’t know, Buck.”  Bucky had nodded. And because Bucky was Bucky he had said, “We only have a few more months of this. We figure this out when we get home.”

“Home…we could take a vacation.”

Steve remembers Bucky’s wry smile in the dark. “A vacation, Steve? To where?”

“I dunno. Some place warm. Mexico.”

“Mexico it is.” Bucky had pressed a kiss to Steve’s lips and it was the last one Steve would get.

Steve had wanted to say that he loved Bucky. That they were going to make this work and be in love and be happy together. He should have said that he loved Bucky.

_He should have said that he loved Bucky._

Why didn't he just say it?

It doesn't matter. He didn’t say it. He was too afraid. And the silence went on for too long and then before he fell asleep Bucky said, “We can just follow the train tracks.” 

—

Eventually, Bucky starts having nightmares. Steve isn’t sure why they come so much later, but they seem to come with the memories. He doesn’t tell Steve what they’re about, but he comes into his room nearly every night.

At first he takes to the floor. Steve finds him the next morning, curled up with his flesh arm over his ear.

He’s impressed Bucky managed to come in without waking him up. Steve usually startles awake when someone even walks by the hall.

The next time Bucky tries it, Steve hears him and scoots over. “Don’t be ridiculous, Buck. You can get in bed.”

Bucky climbs right in. And he climbs right in the next night and the next. Steve presses up against him and talks him back to sleep.

Steve used to have nightmares too. After the fall and definitely after Steve unfroze. He dreamt about walking through snow. Alone, but unable to feel the cold. Unable to see anything or hear anything. Just muffled and alone, screaming for Peggy, for Dum-Dum, for Morita, for Erskine. Screaming for Bucky.

The worst nights were after he met the Winter Soldier. His dreams were toxic. Kept him from sleeping. He dreamt not of Bucky trying to kill him. No, of killing Bucky. Of the sound Bucky’s shoulder made when he dislocated it. Of shoving a pistol under his jaw and whispering, “I’m so sorry, Buck,” before pulling the trigger.

Sam’s voice saying Bucky wasn’t the kind he saved. Natasha telling him that this mission was driving him insane. That if he hadn’t found him after two years then he wasn’t going to find him at all.

Steve used to wake up sweating and screaming. Doctor Banner tried to teach him relaxation techniques. Sam invited him to group therapy. Natasha redoubled her recon efforts.

Then one day, the nightmares just cut out. He’d get maybe one a week, but he could handle that.

The rest of his dreams were populated by odd visions of following Bucky down the corridors of a train. Nothing terrifying or even sinister in the tone. They didn’t even speak to each other. Just the metallic shuffle of a train rattling on the tracks.

—

“Sam, can I talk to you about something?”

They’ve been running every Sunday morning since Bucky started eating on his own. At first, Steve was reluctant to leave Bucky alone. But he’s beginning to enjoy the time to not think so damn much.

Sam does a good job of keeping Steve from thinking too much. But he listens. He’s a quiet and attentive listener with minimal feedback unless prompted. 

“Sure, Cap. What’s up?”

Steve pauses. “I’m not sure how to phrase it.” He runs a little faster, just to tamp down his nerves. It doesn’t work. He has to reassure himself that times are different. That Sam will understand. That Sam is friends with plenty of queer people.

“Well, don’t sweat it and just say it.”

“I’m in love with Bucky.”

Sam slows down to a stop. His brow is furrowed in a way that makes Steve’s gut clench up. He thought he’d be okay with it. He was supposed to be…

“Was this…before all this brainwash shit or after? Coz, I gotta say, man, not that you can’t be…but it’s kind of like a nurse falling in—“

“No, no, this was…” Steve is blushing. He’s actually blushing. “Before. Before he fell. We, uh, had a thing. For a bit.”

Sam nods. He's quiet for a moment, thinking it through. “And you don’t want to tell him.”

“I don’t want to tell him.”

“Because…”

“Because he’s…he’s healing. And he doesn’t remember.”

“Oh, Steve. He’ll remember.”

—

After Bucky gets his arm replaced, he wants a haircut.

“I saw the pictures. I didn’t use to wear it like this did I?”

Never mind that Bucky remembers how Steve used to wear his hair. (“Longer than now. Now you look like a duckling.”) Bucky can only remember his own appearance through pictures.

The sly slant of a smirk. Those crisp blue eyes under a tilted cap. His shoulders broad in his uniform.

“Sure, Buck. Want me to take you to a barber’s?”

Bucky hesitates. He has a pair of leather loafers (courtesy of Tony Stark via Pepper Potts) waiting for him by the door. But they have yet to be worn. Along with his jacket (again, Ms. Potts) and a mental list of coping mechanisms for when he’s ready to leave the building again (a joint gift from Sam and Doctor Banner).

Steve is about to let him off the hook (“Or I can cut it for you, Buck.”) when Bucky nods.

“Alright.”

—

Doctor Banner suggested that Bucky wear a thick jacket when he went outside to help tamp down sensory overload.

Sam suggested he not go alone and try to avoid crowded or large areas.

Steve stays close to Bucky. He wants to put a hand on Bucky’s waist or around his shoulders. He keeps expecting something catastrophic to happen. A sudden loud noise or someone triggering the Winter Soldier out of Bucky.

But it never happens.

Bucky stays quiet through most of the trip. He smiles slightly at the hairdresser and asks Steve to direct her.

He’s more talkative on the way back. He reflects on how the city has changed and various places where he remembers Steve getting into trouble.

And Steve can’t quite handle it. He looks handsome with his new arm (Tony opted for a sleeker design, sans star but with the same metal). With the short hair and the shave and the slight smile. He looks so much like the Bucky he knew then. It’s almost like nothing has changed.

But of course, everything has.

—

“What was it this time, Buck? Another nightmare?”

Bucky has slipped into bed behind Steve, face pressed between his shoulder blades. He can feel Bucky’s breath tickle down his spine. Steve was barely asleep, now used to Bucky coming into his room well after midnight.

“I just remembered something.” Bucky is mumbling into Steve’s skin.

Steve turns over, smiling. “Yeah?”

Bucky nods and looks up. His eyes are so, so blue. “Mexico.”

“What…” Steve can’t let himself get too excited. But he can feel his heart press against his chest with each pounding beat. Can hear it in his throat. Worries that Bucky can hear it too. “What about Mexico?’

Bucky shakes Steve’s shoulder a little. His face is bright and excited, lit up with a memory. No matter what his memory of Mexico is, Steve will be excited with him.

“I remember Mexico, I remember…”

Bucky surges forward. Their teeth grind against their lips and Bucky is leaning his elbow too hard against Steve’s shoulder, but…but oh my god they’re kissing. Bucky remembers. Bucky has his palm on Steve’s cheek and Steve’s hands are hovering over his back before he holds him close and whispers, “ _Bucky._ ”

_Bucky_ like he’s back. _Bucky_ like he’ll never let go of him again. _Bucky_ like I missed you. _Bucky_ like it saved him.

When their lips are raw and swollen and they both can’t catch their breaths because they’re giggling and grinning like kids, they lean back and just look at each other.

So that’s what it was for. The loneliness, the isolation, the feeling like he shouldn’t have survived. 

Steve should have survived. For this.

“Mexico,” Bucky says through a grin.

Steve grins back. “Mexico.”

He’s not alone.

—


End file.
